


Breathe

by runastorm



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: ???? idk?, Aged-Up Character(s), And I'll tag stuff as things develop so yeah, Anxiety Attacks, Claustrophobia, Comfort, Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Nyctophobia, Office AU, Rated T for language, Strangers to... Acquaintances?, au - no supernatural, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6410635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runastorm/pseuds/runastorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marinette ends up stuck inside an elevator with what seems to be a Greek god and, instead of being smooth, she lets her fear of dark and closed spaces get the best of her - and that, fortunately, leads to cuddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or rather: "In which I wrote this instead of doing something else, as per usual."
> 
> This was actually a concept that was lost between the old files in my computer, so forgive me if it's different than the things I've been writing. And before the question pops up, I've never been stuck inside an elevator and I'm vERY THANKFUL FOR IT. I'm not particulary fond of the dark, and despite not giving a crap for closed spaces, I never liked elevators very much because... What if they just... Fall???? Idk. 
> 
> ANYWAY. English isn't my first language and this work wasn't beta'd, so please, forgive my mistakes and warn me (if possible) about any major fuck-ups.
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy!

There’s a storm outside when she leaves the conference room.

Marinette was nervous when she first walked in, her mind and heart as clouded as the Parisian sky, but she did her best to keep her positivist demeanor – it was her dream job she was trying to achieve, after all. And after a meeting in which at least a dozen people tested her ability and knowledge to stressful levels, she wasn’t kept from the immediate and exciting news.

_She was in._

From that day onwards, Marinette Dupain-Cheng would be working on the Agreste’s creation section. The girl had always wanted to be in the fashion industry, and now, freshly out of another company that had added many amazing things to her curriculum, of course she’d aim high – despite her occasional and stupid low self-esteem.

But, yeah.

_‘I’m finally in!’_

A few handshakes and lots of _Thank you for the opportunity_ s later, Marinette exited the conference room and reached for her phone, the paperwork she’d brought along almost slipping from her grasp as she tried to do everything at once. Plus, she’d made the terrible mistake to stop by the coffee machine once the meeting was over, which makes everything ten times harder.

After sending a small text to her parents and to Alya about the great news, she raises her head and thanks the person who’d just exited the elevator for holding the doors for her with an open smile.

Marinette pushes the button to the ground floor, not being able to contain her happiness as she checks all the messages she’d received while being interviewed for the job. There were about 35 of them; most from Alya, obviously. A few are from her mother’s phone number, there’s a single one (nonetheless the most emotional, that actually made her tear up) from her father and, surprisingly (or maybe not so much), a couple of them are from Nino. All of them say basically the same thing, but to Marinette, each one is special on its own way.

It’s thanks to their support she’d made it to where she is now, after all.

And it’s only when the elevator’s doors open in a floor that isn’t hers that Marinette actually pays attention to her surroundings. She was alone – or rather, _was_. Because now, an outstandingly handsome man, who might as well be a Greek god, steps inside the somewhat small place, a gentle and polite smile on his face as he sends a quiet nod in her way. Marinette repays him the gesture and slips her phone inside the bag, gripping strongly at the papers she’s been holding and taking a sip of her coffee.

Now, it would be reasonable to assume she _wasn’t_ staring at him – because, you see, she’s that kind of respectable human being.

But the thing is: she (undeniably) _was_ staring at him.

Perhaps because he made her feel something akin to familiarity, but Marinette wasn’t quite sure. The man was attractive, yes – the kind-of-messy blonde hair being a style on its own, broad shoulders, extremely well dressed, a welcoming and warm smile so natural that it seemed to be part of his routine. But there was more to it.

Or so she sees it, anyway.

And maybe because she’s terribly distracted, they aren’t able to as much as make small talk, and Marinette can’t help but feel she is to blame. Either way, destiny acts in strange ways, and perhaps for being awkward as she is, fate decided to give her a little push.

A very strange, very panic-inducing push.

Because their silence is ripped apart by a strong, powerful thunder, which is followed by pitch blackness and the very much concerning yank of the elevator. Marinette rests her back against the wall, heart hammering against her chest as she lets out a huff of breath, feeling her legs get wobbly.

She hears the stranger mutter a curse under his breath, and Marinette can relate 100%.

 

 

It isn’t clear how much time they’ve already spent inside that God-forsaken place, but they’re both still on their feet and the air isn’t all that heavy yet, so Marinette can only guess it hasn’t been that long. She could easily pull her phone out of her purse and check the time, but truth be told, she doesn’t want to open her eyes.

Because the man beside her sometimes unlocks his phone, possibly to do what she initially planned on doing, but the way his face and part of the room are lit by the dim light makes her stomach flip with a strange uneasiness – and so, she keeps her eyes closed, praying it will be over soon.

The room seems smaller, as well.

Marinette really doesn’t want to think about it. She really, _really doesn’t_. Because she knows she’ll start panicking in no time once the dread of being locked in an elevator finally kicks in and she isn’t exactly ready for that.

But then again, when did any of those feelings ever gave a shit?

She starts hyperventilating, then.

It starts slowly, but surely, and Marinette is lost in the sea of the anxiety prickling her skin in no time. Involuntarily, she opens her eyes. The man turns his head in her direction and the silence (the _nothingness_ but to her rushed breaths, that is) stretches between them. Marinette’s blurred vision doesn’t exactly allow her to see his face, but the worry is evident in his voice.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is smooth, cautious.

Suddenly, it’s like her strength is being sucked away by some sort of unknown force. Marinette’s fingers stop working and she drops both her paperwork and her coffee, hands shaking as the strap of her bag slips from her shoulder, some of the burning liquid spilling on her bare calves. She lets out a pained yelp and crouches down on instinct; her hands touch the ground as she breathes through her mouth excessively. The girl breaks in a cold sweat, her head spins and a sudden urge to throw up scratches at the back of her throat. The person next to her, that had backed away a few rushed steps when she spilled the drink, was now approaching her slowly, crouching beside her.

“Miss, breathe through your nose,” he says.

Marinette tried to comply, but it was useless. The man turned the flashlight of his phone on and placed it on the ground, illuminating directly above, but in a way that the entire room would be at least dimly lit. Marinette blinked a couple of times, trying to ease the pain inside her head.

“I’m going to touch you, alright? I’m trying to help.”

At first, she doesn’t quite grasp the meaning behind his words.

She’s distracted, confused, in pain.

But when he touches her shoulder and hesitantly brings her closer, her minds goes positively blank. The man wraps his arms around her in a way they’re almost hugging each other and then, as one of his hands reach for her nape, bringing her head to rest against his shoulder, the other hand travels till the cold floor in an attempt to support their weight. Even this close, the strange man keeps a somewhat respectable distance between their bodies, which Marinette is immensely grateful for. The hand on the back of her neck lowers to the small of her back, caressing slowly.

“ _Breathe_ , miss. Breathe through your _nose_ — Here, do it with me.”

His voice was firm, demanding - and under the cool gaze of piercing yet gentle eyes she now only faintly remembers to be of a strong green, Marinette feels herself calming down a bit, eyes fixed to his lips as she watches his long and calm breaths, now trying to mirror them. Her nose is fortunately back to its work, small huffs escaping her lips as the man’s breath ghosts over her face.

He keeps patting Marinette until her breath is considerably even, but both of them know she wasn't fully well just yet – and so, the stranger’s soothing, almost husky voice come to her ears again, this time with something very strange.

“Now tell me, can you taste anything?”

Marinette sighs, not fully aware of what he’s trying to do. She licks her lips, and the fact the first think she tastes is her strawberry chapstick makes her flush to the roots of her hair, embarrassed for the childish choice – she’ll make sure to use a pretty lipstick next time she goes to work, because if this encounter is anything to go by, she’ll end up needing the appeal. Not completely lost in thought, she purses her lips and tries to think of something else, body still shivering.

“C-Coffee…”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Can you feel two different things through touch?”

Marinette wiggles her fingers, unconsciously scooching closer to him, “The floor and— And y-you?”

“I guess that’s good enough,” he chuckles, and a strange warmth splashes across her chest. “Can you say three smells you can distinguish here?”

She snorts and giggles a little, unconsciously nuzzling her cheek against the man’s shoulder.

“… The coffee I spilled… M-My hand cream, your cologne…”

The stranger nods calmly, but his heartbeats thrum twice as fast against the palms she’s been keeping against his chest and Marinette is sure his voice sounds a little quieter than before. “Great… Now, four things you can hear?”

It’s getting progressively easier to think and breathe and _everything else_ as she regains her grasp on reality. The room looks a little less scary, as well. “T-The noises from the elevator, t-thunder, your voice… My… Heartbeat…”

“And five you can see?”

His voice is more lit, _lighter_ \- as if he were smiling. Despite that, Marinette doesn’t raise her head to check if her perception of his tone is correct or not; she simply hums back, trying to force her brain to come back and function fully once more.

“The… Cell phone, my bag, the cup, my papers, you…?”

Marinette’s voice trails off, and the man caressing her back slowly makes her embarrassment grow tenfold because _wow_ , most things she listed to calm herself down involved him – the man with a very nice voice and a warm body who’s cuddling her in a closed space and _ok_ , she’s not so calm anymore.

“Good. You did well.”

Marinette breathes in, senses impregnated with his scent, suddenly feeling kind of overwhelmed by his powerful presence - but more like his personal smell, and not the cologne he’s wearing per se, as if he somehow exhaled pheromones and _Jesus Christ, this is getting more and more ridiculous each time she stops to think about it—_

“You can close your eyes you if you don’t like how the elevator looks like right know.”

And apparently, her quiet state had sent him a wrong impression because, well, it’s not like she’s still scared – all thanks to him, by the way.

“Mmm,” she finally complies, then, being warmed up not only by the stranger’s embrace, but also by his kindness. Feeling a little brave, Marinette speaks up, “Can… Can you keep talking? Your voice is… _Soothing_.”

The man freezes, and a moment of sheer silence takes over. Marinette is almost running to the other side of the elevator in shame, her excuse already ready on the back of her stupid, _stupid head_ , but then, his arms hold her tighter, bringing her even closer.

“Alright,” it’s all he says, a tinge of happiness in his voice.

Sighing, a wave of delight hit her senses. The smell of coffee, the man’s scent, the comfortable and warm and _secure_ feeling of his embrace alongside with his calming voice almost have Marinette drifting to the land of the sleeping - but she manages to hold herself back from dozing off, fortunately.

“My name’s Adrien,” he begins a little sheepishly. “I’m 29 years old. I have a black cat called Plagg back at my apartment. I just realized I forgot to eat breakfast— And believe me, I do that a lot. I’m 100% sure I’d forget my head at home if it wasn’t attached to my neck… _Probably_. And… And I don’t think I’ve ever approached anyone like this, but I—” and he breathes in deeply, Marinette’s fingers making random patterns against his ribs, the soft fabric of his suit tickling the pads of her fingers. “I think you’re beautiful, and when you're feeling better, I’d like you to tell me your name.”

Marinette jolts and jumps back, parting from him only enough to sit on her calves and have a good look at the man’s _(Adrien, Adrien, Adrien—)_ slightly red face, flabbergasted. “W-Wha—!”

Then, he seems to finally grasp the ultimate meaning of his request, his facial features going from embarrassed and surprised to serious and extremely concerned.

“I’m—! I’m so sorry!” he blurts, raising his hands in surrender. “Did it trigger you? Just forget I said that! I didn’t—”

Marinette lets out a squeak and buries her face against his chest, not exactly caring for the consequences as she circles him with her arms and hugs his waist in a tight grip.

“… I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly.

A quick nod.

A brief moment of silence.

She breathes in, and then out – _slowly_.

One second, two.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Adrien blinks, “I beg your pardon?”

“My name,” she simply says.

“… Oh.”

The man goes back to petting her back soothingly, then – a smile hidden in his voice. “Hello there, miss Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette kind of wanted Adrien to call her by her first name, but she guesses this will have to do.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Do you work here?”

She nods weakly, “I just got accepted.”

He hums back, “I see.”

There’s something in the air she can’t quite put the finger on, but the silence is comfortable as they hold each other. After a while, she opens her mouth to say something, mind blank, but the lights come back and make her go back to her senses.

“I guess they fixed the elevator, huh?” he prompts a little absent-mindedly.

Marinette keeps silent, with no intention of moving anytime soon - or at least, not realizing she was _supposed_ to. When the petting stops, Marinette raises her head – just to find an Adrien flushed to his neck, gorgeous green eyes looking anywhere but her.

“So… Someone’s probably going to arrive soon and— The camera is probably already working so— U-Um—”

There’s a loud squeak as Marinette rapidly shots up, almost tripping on her own feet. Adrien gapes for a moment, blinking slowly until he lets out a small giggle. It quickly develops into something completely out of control and he doubles in laughter, shaking his head. “That was _adorable_.”

“W-What?!”

“Uh, sorry,” he tries to hold back the smile, but to no avail. Clearing his throat, Adrien stands, crouching down a few steps further to catch Marinette’s bag and the few documents scattered around, handing them to her with a carefree expression. “I believe this is yours.”

Marinette purses her lips and accepts the strap of her bag, along with the paperwork, giving only a quick nod as thanks. She’s beyond embarrassed and perhaps it’s a wise decision not to trust her voice just yet.

Then, someone calls out to them through the elevator’s speaker.

“Everything alright in there?” and it’s a man’s voice.

Adrien approaches, still visibly flustered, but keeps his tone idle, “We’re fine. But sorry, could you also call the janitor in? We’ve made a little mess in here.”

The man seems to be suppressing his laugh, but agrees nonetheless. “Right away. We’ll drop you both on the 6th floor first. The nurse is already waiting.”

He opens his mouth, apparently with a response already in mind, but stops himself short to turn to Marinette. Adrien offers her a small smile as one of his hands go up to scratch sheepishly the back of his neck, “Sorry. Are you up to a little detour?”

Again, she simply nods.

_‘Stupid smile. Stupid green eyes. Stupid very nice and very attractive voice—’_

Adrien steps closer to the speaker device, “Very well. Thank you.”

Even if they don’t talk on the way, a warm feeling spreads through Marinette’s body. She suddenly feels lighter, the tense muscles of her shoulders finally relaxing as she lets out a breath she had been holding without noticing. As the elevator's doors open on the 6th floor, a bespectacled woman that looks very much on edge and spooked beyond her mind comes directly to Adrien in quick steps.

“Mr. Agreste, sir! Are you alright?! Are you hurt?!”

Adrien wears a generic but polite smile and nods. “I’m just fine, Nathalie, thank you,” and as that smooth voice answers the seemingly older woman, Marinette freezes because _what the actual hell—_ “But I’ll drop by the nurse's office now. Better safe than—”

Then, Marinette’s documents scatter all over the floor once more.

Mr. Agreste, who also happens to be the well-known _director of the Agreste company_ looks back, startled. He's the son of the owner of the company; the same son who worked his ass off to get a hold of his current position; the same son who used to be a teen model, hence his familiar face. She opens and closes her mouth, but nothing comes out. He frowns worriedly and looks on the verge of speaking up, possibly to ask about Marinette’s well-being, but the girl doesn't give him the chance to do so.

“ _Mr. Agreste_?” she asks with wide eyes.

Adrien’s expression is suddenly full of understanding as a smirk tugs on the corner of his lips, eyes gleaming in something akin to amusement, the tip of his ears acquiring an extremely light shade of red – but his voice never wavers.

“ _Yes_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* Oh shit.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always very much appreciated! Either way, I hope you enjoyed. :D  
> All the love! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHO'S BACK
> 
> First of all, I'd like to thank everyone who left kudos and comments in this work. It means a lot. <3
> 
> And well, this went from emotional and flirty to crack real quick, as well as being a simply one-shot and developing into a multi-chaptered piece (because this plot bunny actually makes me ~~less fucked up in the head~~ happy and the ideas just keep coming so yep). *shrieks* And so, THE PLOT THICKENS-- Or maybe not. Either way.
> 
> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to @neonstrom because the beginning of this was basically inspired on her beautiful words. *dreamy sigh* AND ALSO, A HUGE THANK YOU TO @Fe, WHO KEEPS MAKING JOKES ABOUT MY USERNAME AND STORMS AND SHIT AND MADE ME REALIZE THE ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER WAS A FUCKING JOKE BECAUSE *storms and karma everywhere (????)*
> 
> Again, I apologize for the mistakes beforehand because once more, this work wasn't beta'd. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy nonetheless. <3

_‘Oh… Shit.’_

Marinette thinks about a series of possible way-outs of that _embarrassing_ , compromising situation. The young woman tries to gather what she has in a hurry in order to not do anything stupid, and the fact she had been only a few minutes back very much _cuddling_ _in the_ _dark_ with the-son-of-her-boss-therefore-her-boss-as-well makes her brain have a short circuit— _No_ , her brain is _jelly_. Yes. She is all jelly and yet he _flirted_ with her with that _otherworldly_ face and that _very nice_ voice and—

_‘Oh **shit**.’_

She might as well deliver her resignation letter directly to him.

The man is close enough to be arms-length, and also far enough to be in the door’s way. He had been on his way of leaving the small box of torture when she messed up _again_ , and Marinette wasn’t sure the door hadn’t closed yet because absolutely no time had passed - since she started seeing that “movie of life flashing before her eyes” - or if it was because he was definitely messing up with the door sensor while holding that stupid, beautiful, witty pose (and keeping up with the smile full of sass that made her go weak in the knees).

Marinette wants to punch him the face _real bad_.

For being sweet, for being adorable, for being _hot as fuck_ , and, for the love of God, for being her _boss_.

However, she settles for shoving him very, very far away from her.

In fact, her _delicate_ push is so out of the blue that she uses too much strength and he isn’t exactly ready for her stupidity (but then again, who is?) and the man ends up losing balance, taking a few steps ahead without really meaning to. Before the elevator’s doors close, Marinette manages to get a glimpse of _Adrien Agreste_ wobbling his legs ungracefully as he tries to keep himself from falling on all fours and what she guesses to be a personal assistant of some sort shooting her way a very much scandalized look.

_‘Shit shit shit shit shit…’_

Her back meets the farthest wall of the elevator and Marinette spends the first four floors trying to regain her grasp on reality and _okay, calm the fuck down. You just came out of a panic attack. You don’t need another—_

Blue eyes scan the small room in a rush and only then she realizes all her papers are still scattered around, some of them permanently stained because of the cold puddles of coffee on the ground. Her breath is erratic as she crouches down and gathers them, folding the paper sheets messily and shoving them into her purse. When she finally is dropped at the ground floor, she shots off the elevator in quick steps, her heels making angry _taps_ against the marble.

When something that is most likely the farthest thing from white noise and that sounds _very much like her name_ reaches her ears, Marinette’s brain screams for her to turn around, but her body doesn’t respond. It is only when a hand catches her arm and yanks her back, spinning her around, that she fully realizes how very buried in deep shit she actually is.

Because the person who had been running after her was no one else than Adrien, and his new look (that somehow fit him very well) of loose tie, even-messier-hair and I-ditched-my-expensive-suit-jacket-somewhere-on-the-way-here definitely didn’t fit the image of someone who just caught another elevator to the ground floor. And if his extremely breathless and slightly sweat-glossy skin state was anything to go by, he probably had used the stairs and parkour-ed his way from the 6th floor just to catch her in time.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is how Marinette Dupain-Cheng loses her job.

And it’s not even her first day yet.

He keeps his hand on her elbow, and she is definitely _not_ an absolute train wreck as she _patiently_ waits for him to regain composure and _totally-not-nope-never_ watches closely the way his chest inflates and deflates with the giant gulps of air he takes in and out, mouth slightly open. Marinette licks her lips instinctively and as if on cue to get his shit together he finally raises his head, eyes gleaming. Adrien smiles endearingly and she flushes to her neck, eternal and intense chants of _‘God fucking damn it’_ going wild inside her brain.

“Hi,” he simply says, voice still a little weak.

And she’s so, _so sold_.

Because she has the unsettling urge to bury her face in his chest again, she wants to feel his long fingers caressing her hair and his hand circling her waist, but maybe she’s a tad too needy and sleep-deprived and so, as any other responsible adult would do, she pushes the thought as far away as possible, which, _mind you_ , doesn’t necessarily mean _far enough_.

“H-Hi…” she voices it back.

He purses his lips as his hand slides smoothly to her wrist and Marinette wants to flee again.

“You ran away,” he muses.

“And you came after me,” she replies lamely.

The man quirks a brow and the smirk he gives her is a shade too devious as he says, “Looks like I did.”

She wants to kick him, this time.

But hey, at least it’s a different feeling, right?

With a low sigh, he takes a step forward, which makes them a little too close for comfort. It’s not like there are that many people on the lounge and the probability of someone actually recognizing her is close to none, but that doesn’t make it less embarrassing. _Worst of all_ , his warmth feels familiar, and her mind is swimming between obliterating shock and utmost delight. The grip he still has on her lowers further, his hand wraps around hers a little tighter and, _fortunately_ , Marinette manages to bite back her tiny squeak.

“ _Please_ remind me to never run six flights of stairs like that ever again,” Adrien breathes, punctuating the last two words with dramatic pauses as his voice fans the skin of her shoulder, making her freeze in place.

“I-I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Her stutter seems to yank his common sense back in place, because his body goes through a violent jolt and he takes at least four steps back after releasing her hand, eyes wide, blushing all the way to the tip of his ears.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “I’m— I’m _so sorry_! I’ve… I-I’ve been carelessly touching you for the past hour, haven’t I?” The man swallows visibly, hand rising to scratch the back of his neck a little sheepishly. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to pass for some kind of opportunist. I just—”

“It’s— It’s _fine_ , really.”

 _‘If anything, I was the one taking advantage of you,’_ Marinette thinks, but keeps her mouth shut. Instead, she breathes in deeply, gathering all little courage she has because this man was considerate enough to not allow her run off with the tail between her legs like a kicked puppet in the rain and she’s sort of glad for being cornered for once. Maybe that’ll teach her to face responsibility the next time she _cuddles with her boss—_

 **Ahem**.

“You helped me out today,” Marinette blurts out without thinking twice, and despite admitting his complexion to be extremely _distracting_ (which is nothing but a terrible understatement), the girl makes the favor of looking anywhere but him – only in order to keep a hold of her integrity, of course. “If— If there is ever an opportunity, I’d like to return the favor…”

Her tone dies down as her eyes try to catch a glimpse of his, and the image of Adrien with wide eyes, jaw left half-hanging and cheeks full of color gives away the impression that maybe she isn’t the only one flustered to the bone.

But then Marinette understands what she had basically just said.

“ _Not_! N-Not that I want you to go through that sort of thing! Ever!” she stammers as her hands rise in surrender, face flaring up. “Not at all! This isn’t— I didn’t— Oh, _Christ_ …”

Marinette dips her head in her hands and refuses to look up for a few seconds until she hears the most beautiful, heart-shattering sound she’d ever had the pleasure to listen to. She peeks from in-between her fingers, a single eye opening just to check if God would have been so kind to her as she believes to be true only to then discover that _yes_ , Adrien Agreste is _laughing_.

Fortunately, the girl manages to keep herself from melting on the spot – because, well, another useless puddle on the ground is the last thing they need right now.

“I’ll certainly hold you to that,” he finally says.

It’s not like she is contemplating the possibility of getting herself a date or anything of the sort; despite often being caught daydreaming, Marinette is a single year away from turning 30 and being realistic is almost mandatory at this point in life. Now, the art of knowing how to appreciate good things such as multiple gallons of chocolate ice cream, breakfast in bed and grossly handsome men is something that also comes with age, thankfully.

Not that these three things have anything to do with one another, really.

“Would you, uh,” he licks his lips and Marinette has to swallow back a scream. “Would you mind if we exchanged numbers?”

Okay so, _maybe_ she’s got a date.

 _‘Be realistic, Marinette. Please,_ please _don’t be dumb please don’t create expectations he’s probably just asking out of politeness or to talk about work or to send you hate mail—’_ she chokes. _‘No. He’d never do that. Probably.’_

“S-Sure.”

He beams and she _almost_ hits him, this time.

Way to look like a fucking angel.

Adrien takes out his phone and saves her number, typing only her first name and then asking for a picture. All things considered, she should’ve refused; he’s still her boss and she doesn’t know shit about him except they’re the same age and he’s hot and has a cat with a weird name. But Marinette has experience with this type of people - those who would most likely ask a selfie with their neighbor just not to break the stupid pattern on their contact list if it ever came to that -, so instead of freaking out and turning on her heel to running to _far, far away_ , she simply accepts his request.

The man smiles again and, fortunately, makes quick business of it, possibly because he realizes how flustered she actually is; either way, Marinette is extremely happy for looking at least _decent_ in the picture. She does the same on her phone, gathering his private information and capturing his good looks with the ( _thankfully high-definition_ ) camera – not that Marinette makes a habit of filing people’s contact info with a picture, which to be honest is really weird, but it’s of _Adrien Agreste_ we’re talking about.

And now she has a picture of him. Ha-ha.

… Which was going to be _very difficult_  to explain, if Alya’s half-assed manners, addiction to any form of technology and slippery hands were anything to go by.

“In which section were you accepted?” he asks, putting his phone away.

“Uh, I…” Marinette clears her throat, cursing her suddenly blank mind for being stupid and _so god damn weak_ as she finally responds, “Creation.”

Adrien gives a hum in approval and nods, “You start on Monday, right?”

She blinks, feeling a slight and uncomfortable blush creeping up her cheekbones. Marinette purses her lips and looks away, trying not to think about the weird rush of events her day has been so far.

“If I don’t find a hole to bury myself in, then yes,” and her voice is only a whisper.

“Oh, well,” Adrien shrugs, smiling. “I hope you don’t find one, then.”

Marinette mock-scowls at him, feeling her nerves being put slightly at ease at his playful words, and so allows herself to lightly slap his arm, “Sure you don’t.”

It is with great gratefulness she watches his shoulders relax and fall from their excessively formal posture, and his overall expression makes Marinette want to work harder to be freed from the seemingly eternal state of awkwardness installed in her brain. But it’s probably understandable to be flustered after all the weird shit that had happened throughout the day.

Which leads her to a very important question.

“Mr. Agreste—”

“By all means, call me Adrien,” he quickly interrupts, an award-worthy smile on his face. “I’ve chased you down for six flights of stairs after you quite literally shoved me off an elevator. I think we’re a little past the first names base.”

_‘God damn it—’_

“A-Adrien, then,” she breathes, tugging a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she forces herself to keep her eyes on him. “How… How did you know how to help me back there?”

His eyes widen and shock flickers through his expression for a very brief moment, but the reaction is gone as suddenly as it came when a vague emotion takes over his complexion. At last he shrugs, smiling, “A mystery for another day!”

Marinette groans in response.

It’s not like she _needs_ to know that very specific piece of information (and now that she thinks about it, _crap_ , that question might’ve made him uncomfortable), but the fact she wants to know more about him is undeniable. Adrien is handsome, gentle, thoughtful and somewhat mysterious; even if he is indeed her boss, how could she _not_ be interested in him? Even if it’s _platonically_ —

… Okay. Probably not platonic.

_Either way._

They talk for a somewhat long time and Marinette is impressed to see how much she had improved in only half an hour – and simply through communication, patience and sheer determination. The stutter isn’t all gone and she’s still being immediately kicked to cloud nine every time she hears his laughter, but it’s getting better.

Slowly.

 _Very_ slowly.

His excitement over anything that concerned her and also his obvious interest regarding her opinion over the smallest of things also make it easier, somehow. Anyone else, she’d feel like they weren’t actually listening; but something about Adrien made her feel a little special.

Which was, in many ways, very important.

She had already left the building, waiting by the end of the crosswalk until the traffic light decided to work on her favor when it _finally happened_. Right after it turned green to pedestrians and she had been about to cross the street, someone grabs her shoulder while calling out her name. Startled, Marinette turns to around, wide-eyed and confused.

It’s Adrien again.

He had gone back to his personal assistant when she left the lounge, or so he’d said he would. And now that she thinks about it, he had run after her _again_.

Twice in the same day.

“W-What’s wrong?” she stammers.

He’s smiling like a perfect idiot – until he _isn’t_. His eyes widen into something akin to sheer shock as he realizes the stupidity he’d done. Adrien looks around as if to seek reassurance elsewhere, somewhere that wasn’t a pair of summery-sky eyes, peppered freckles over fair skin and an otherworldly smile.

When his bright green eyes go back to her, the tug on his lips is far less confident and twice as self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I—” and the man swallows visibly, half chuckling at his own over-excitement as the other half did its best not to choke on the heart doing crazy somersaults at the back of his throat.

For a moment, Adrien seems legitimately unable to control his _stupid_ , _adorable_ happiness, because his smile falters and comes back in full force and he breaks her gaze as if he’s been _burned_ by his own palpable embarrassment; and when he seems to finally gather the courage to send a look her way again, he eyes Marinette with an extremely loving expression, pursing his lips. “Congratulations on getting the job. I’m— I’m sure you’re amazing at what you do, really.”

Marinette gapes at him, reticent. For a moment she’s sure she’d heard wrong, but as his expression grows progressively more awkward by each passing second, she’s surer her ears had never worked better. The woman frowns, feeling momentarily taken aback by his actions because _what the fuck_.

“You… You could’ve just told me that through text,” she says weakly. “O-Or Monday morning…”

The way she sees it, it’s a little silly wasting another good amount of energy just to chase her _again_ to simply congratulate her. In all honestly, he’d done more to her as a stranger in a few hours than many of her old friends had never even thought about doing in ten years of knowing each other, which had easily granted him a few golden stars on her book.

And this same line of thought leads her to another important point: they don’t even _know_ each other.

Not thoroughly, at least.

So _why_?

He huffs again, and Marinette isn’t sure if it’s because he’s still a little out of breath or because her retaliation had somehow upset him; and before she allows herself to let guilt wash over her nerves, Adrien speaks up again.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” he confesses awkwardly. “ _Today_.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

For some reason, she can’t avert his gaze, which only makes it ten times _worse_ , because Adrien looks so genuine it almost hurts.

Marinette licks her lips before muttering a quiet, “T-Thank you.”

After that, there isn’t much besides nearly forgetful _‘See you’_ s – only because she absolutely cannot wait to Monday to finally arrive and _God_ , how can a 29-year-old man with a body worthy of being a successful underwear model and a face of an extremely sinful angel be so fucking _adorable_?

 

 

Weekend is hell.

She expected that much.

But Adrien’s constant text messages – his meaningless yet sweet cat emoticons that made her smile over absolutely nothing in particular, his surprising and shameless interest in bad jokes that had her swimming in sweet exasperation rather than blind adoration, his warming and thoughtful _‘How was your day?’_ that twisted her stomach in knots that just screamed _anxiety_ despite the man’s initial intent – allowed her the opportunity to get mildly used to him and think that through.

She was going to work in the same building as him. They would co-exist in that gigantic place that, yes, left very little chances to stumble upon any sort of acquaintance but _come on_ , they had been very much closed in a very much _small_ _box of torture_ to dare to utter a word about odds. And Marinette wasn’t about to push her occasional good luck – or _bet it_ , for that instance.

It was pretty clear that she had to formulate a plan in order to make it all work.

Needless to say, the weekend was more chocolate ice cream and less thinking. And when Monday finally came, Marinette _didn’t have a plan_.

She had been introduced to the small team on the Creation section that had an _entire floor_ to themselves, despite being only a couple pairs over a dozen people – which was honestly surprising, all things considered.

At least it was enough to inflate her ego a little bit, because now she was officialy part of this group of selected people.

And, well, all her co-workers being full of praise probably helped on that matter. Either way, she was happy most of the crew seemed receptive to her presence in general, and Marinette was beyond relieved as one of the girls seemed to have taken a liking to her – and a name on the rise, no less. Dianne Royer had been on the spotlight for a while after a very successful summer collection she’d made for the fashion show Gabriel Agreste had organized especially for his high ranked interns on the last year.

Dianne was a nice person and reminded her a bit of Alya, despite being slightly more aggressive and impulsive than her long-term friend. And not only that, her welcoming nature could give Marinette a chance to receive lots of useful advice from someone with lots of experience. It goes without saying she was absolutely thrilled about the new job, even if that meant her first item on the to-do list was to organize her new working table, since it was almost mandatory each desk to have a few set of personal belongings to give the place a special touch.

“Marinette?”

She’s still a little distracted by the task at hand as she looks up.

Her face twists in absolute shock because _she was definitely not prepared to deal with this so soon_.

_‘Adrien.’_

“Mr. Agreste! _How_ —” she chokes on her words and he makes a face, possibly because of the use of his surname rather than dropping formalities as he had previously asked her to. Marinette shakes the thought away and forces a toothy smile. “How can I help you?”

He doesn’t look very happy.

“Can we talk?” he says, visibly uncomfortable with the situation. “… In _private_?”

Marinette’s eyes widen as she frowns in confusion and she feels a little lost, but Dianne elbows her in the ribs in order to get her attention; Marinette lets out a pained yelp and, right after looking at the older woman’s way with a not very polite set of words resting on the tip of her tongue, her co-worker beckons to Adrien in both exasperation and amusement as if to say, _‘Just fucking go, girl!’_

“I, uh,” Marinette stammers, flustered as she looks his way again. “ _Sure_?”

He looks at her expectantly for a few more seconds until Marinette realizes she’s supposed to get up from her chair and follow him around; and when she finally has the guts to do it, they walk quietly side by side for a few set of corridors that are completely unfamiliar and at the same time look absolutely the same to her; if Adrien decides to take on his momentary annoyance towards her attitude and drop her on that very same spot, she probably won’t be able to go home unless someone sends help because _that building is fucking huge_.

Adrien opens a door with no tag and wordlessly asks her to go in first. Marinette nods and steps inside, ready to accept whatever punishment Dear Heavens had sent her through the angelic green eyes. She mentally kicks herself over the thought as Adrien follows her inside shortly after, closing the door behind him. It’s not a very big room, but the large and currently open windows plus the concerning lack of furniture aside the somewhat big table with a few ashtrays makes her lucky guess that they’re probably in one of the rooms people use to have a smoke.

The tension crawls upon her delicate figure and she’s terribly afraid all the silent progress they’d made during the last three days will be thrown out the window.

If that actually happens, she might as well see herself out.

Through the very same window, that is.

“So, aah,” she half-sighs, half-groans. “What can I do for you?”

He crosses his arms, seemingly greatly unsatisfied with _something_.

That pout was adorable, though.

“Why is it suddenly _Mr. Agreste_?” he says with a scowl.

“… _W-Well_! I can’t exactly call you Adrien in front of everyone,” Marinette reasons, nervously looking around. Even if there’s nobody with them to hear their conversation, it feels like they’re being watched. “It will raise too many questions, and for some reason I don’t think the truth will exactly convince anyone.”

When she looks up, Marinette is surprised to find him full of color around the cheeks, and so she blushes slightly in return. It has been progressively easier to be around him, but that didn’t mean all troubles were immediately casted aside. For some reason her brain starts working on the embarrassingly high number of times she’d made a fool of herself in front of him, and when Adrien clears his throat to get her attention again, the woman jolts back to reality in return.

“I’m sorry for coming after you so suddenly…”

“ _Again_ ,” she quirks a brow and a playful smirk tugs on her lips.

Adrien hums sheepishly and clears his throat, muttering a barely-audible _‘Anyway,’_ under his breath. Marinette clenches her teeth and tries very, _very_ hard not to feel too giddy.

It’s a little hard, to be honest.

“I— I didn’t want to be so forward, but you’re probably the only one who I’m comfortable enough to ask this, and it’s been a little difficult to deal with it on my own lately a-and— After what happened in the elevator, I went after you on a whim and we got closer and… Let’s just get this out of the way, you’re a really nice person who probably won’t judge me for being _needy_ —” he gasps, eyes widening. “Okay. Poor choice of words. What I mean is—!”

“Adrien, _breathe_.” Marinette cringes, somehow surprised she’s the one voicing those lines. “You’re babbling.”

“R-Right,” he stammers awkwardly. “I’m just going straight to the point, then.”

_‘Please please don’t let this be some weird Fifty Shades of Grey shit oh my God please—’_

“… Really, now?” she huffs, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear to avert attention from her own embarrassment. “And what is it about?”

What it previously was just a darker shade of pink staining a friendly color across his cheekbones become an inferno crawling under his skin, the blush so worrying that Marinette’s eyes widen and her fear of what's about to come out from his pretty mouth increase tenfold. Adrien licks his lips and looks away, murmuring a bunch of things she can’t catch because _words, Agreste boy, you’re supposed to use them_.

But then his green eyes come back burning, _burning_ , and it's like the ground beneath her feet have disappeared.

“Would it be too much to… Ask you for a hug?”

_‘Uh.’_

“… _What_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Punch me in the face.


End file.
